The Courier Chronicles
by Kuceman
Summary: The famed Courier of the Mojave Express, Jeffrey tells his grand story about how one little poker chip changed his life forever.  Rated M for course language, violence, and eventual sexual content.
1. Only Mostly Dead

Welcome to the first installment of the Courier Chronicles. This is where the Courier of the Mojave Express, Jeffrey recounts his moments in the Wasteland. First let me start off by saying I love the Fallout series since day one and I'm hoping to tell my own version of the story while sticking to major plotlines and keeping to the spirit of Fallout:New Vegas. With that being said enjoy.  
Disclaimer: Fallout and Fallout: New Vegas is owned by their respective partners.

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Isn't it ironic how a person's greatest achievements in life start with a terrible mistake or misfortune? Many modern-day inventions wouldn't be around if it wasn't for them doing the wrong thing at the right time. Moments like these can change the world for the better or bring about the greatest discoveries. For me delivering that tiny little poker chip was my "wrong thing". Despite the misfortune that little trinket gave me, it wouldn't have made me the man I am today. Truth be told, this could've happened to any of my former coworkers if it wasn't me. Hell I consider myself the luckiest man alive thanks to that chip. Funny yet sad thing is it lead to my temporary death.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I had to face on my final delivery for Mojave Express. It all happened so fast. The Great Khans were so silent when they ambushed me. I assumed was it was just the wind. In hindsight it had to be one of the biggest fucking mistakes of my life. All it took was for me to foolishly have my back exposed. Nothing but a blunt hit to my head and I was out like a light. You know for being such a bookworm, that was pretty dumb on my part but to be fair all I had on me was a 9mm pistol for protection. Lord knows those behemoths would have crushed me like the Radroach I was.

Here I was an eager young 22 year old going to one of most famous spots in all the Wasteland. I thought maybe after work was done and I was paid, I'd loosen up and have a little fun. I owed it to myself to indulge in the fineries of New Vegas. I wasn't the type to get out much. Being the nerd I was, I always had my head in all sorts of books and plus the occasional Grognag the Barbarian comic book. My personal favorite of course. Seeing that book smarts can only get you so far out in the Wasteland, something like this would have happened eventually, but god I really didn't want it to end like this.

When I awoke, it was the dead of night. My hands were bind tightly and fear instantly coursed right through my blood veins. My anxieties grew with my breath getting shorter and shorter.

"You got what you were after, so pay up!" echoed a gruff voice.

Then another spoke but this one was a lot more sophisticated. He obviously wasn't with the Great Khans, "You're cryin' in the rain pally."

My breath became a lot more noticeable and louder. One of the other Khans took notice, "Someone's wakin' up over here and he's wimperin' like a little baby."

With that punch to my pride I stood up trying to compose myself trying to hold back the tears building up in my eyes. I wasn't afraid to admit I was fearing for my life. All I was thinking was how much life I had yet to live. I was going to quit the Express once I earned enough caps and make something of myself. But thanks to this smug bastard in a tacky checkered suit I was going to meet my maker.

I swallowed my fear and did the only thing I could do, "Please… Let me go… Whatever you want from me you got… I won't tell anyone about this… I-I swear on it…" With that the tears started to fall.

"Jesus Christ, what a fuckin' pussy. What a damn disgrace." One of the great Khans taunted. I just didn't care anymore. All I wanted was my life.

The man that would seal my fate then spoke while pulling out that one poker chip that started this whole chain of events, "You made your last delivery kid. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene."

With that pitiful excuse for an apology, I stared him down with my fists bunched up in anger. But that soon dissipated when he pulled out that huge pistol of his. I was going to die and there was nothing I could do.

My elusive captor said these final words, "The game was rigged from the start." I may have not known it at that time but I'd soon find out what he meant.

With the click of that trigger, my world became dark. The darkest it's ever been. There were no angels to lift me up to the gates of heaven or any demons to drag me down to the deepest depths of hell. No nirvana, no deities, no life after death, nothing. Just the cold, harsh darkness of death.

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I really hope you enjoyed this first installment of The Courier Chronicles. I hope to make this into a full fledged series with my own special twist on the original story. Reviews and critiques are very much appreciated.


	2. Welcome to Goodsprings

Quite some time has past since I've make the prologue. I want to take my time with this story so I come up with a good end product. Since it's summer I may have more time to write other fanfictions as well. But for now enjoy!

Disclaimer:The Fallout Franchise is owned by their respective owners

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My eyes fluttered open to a beige ceiling with cracks and a rotating fan. As I regained consciousness, I felt a weird pain in my head. I lifted my heavy hand towards my scalp and felt stitches embedded there.

The instant I touched the stitching I heard a voice, a voice of an old man, "Hey now sonny. Don't mess up those stiches. I take pride in my needlework. Hehehe."

I slowly arose stretching out all my arms and legs. My newly stitched head fell into my hands as I recollected my nightmarish memory of my demise. The face of my killer, his cold stare, and the loud bang of his pistol. My anxiety then got the better of me as I felt all over my body just to feel that everything is present and accounted for. My breath was as rapid as my heartbeat.

The man put a comforting hand on my shoulder. He was quite an old man with an smart looking moustache. Man had to be as gentle as a shepherd,"Easy, easy there. You were out cold for a couple days. Just relax and get your bearings."

My breath slowed down a bit. A slow grin accompanied by tears of joy appeared on my face. No words in the entire world could tell how glad I was that I wasn't really dead. It was a miracle in every sense of the word. I wiped my tears on my arm I looked up at my friendly caretaker.

"Well young man before we go any further, can you tell me your name?" He asked first off.

A wide smile crossed my face and I said my name proudly,"My name is… Jeffrey. Jeffrey Dakota."

"Well that's quite a name. I'm Doc Mitchell and welcome to Goodsprings." I shook the good doctor's hand.

Doc then helped me up off the mattress and guided me to a mirror, "Now the stitches will take a while to heal up and it may leave a scar. I did my best so you be the judge."

I looked into my reflection. For a guy that was shot in the head, I'd say I didn't look half bad. I had long locks of auburn hair extending to my shoulders, eyes as blue as a Nuka-Cola Quantum, and a little bit of a soul patch on my chin. Everything checked out.

I smiled even more as I looked at myself in the mirror,"Hehe, I'd say you did a bang up job Doc. This is undoubtedly my face." I turned to face him,"If anything this scar will only give me a nice little anecdote to share at the bar."

We both laughed,"Good to see someone hasn't lost a sense of humor after all that." Doc chuckled.

I breathed out a nice long sigh of relief,"Doc, I don't know what to say. You saved my life. And I can tell from the attention to detail from the suturing that you did your absolute best. Thank you…"

Doc modestly said,"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for."

Modest man. I guess Doc's used to hearing peoples thanks for helping them. Judging from his age he's seen his share of life and death. From the look of his house he looks like he's been everywhere. The old doctor's story tells he left his home, Vault 21. Smack dab in the middle of New Vegas. He went out traveling the wastes as a doctor then later married his childhood sweetheart and they both retired here. Of course his poor wife had passed on a number of years ago but the town has given him some company with him being the town doctor.

We sat down in the living room and he gave me the opportunity to ask a few questions, "Doc, who exactly discovered me after I was shot?"

The old man responded, "It was that robot feller, Victor who brought you here to me."

I really couldn't believe it. My nerdy mind was reeling that I was saved by a work of technology, "Wow! A robot?"

"Yeah it's the darndest thing. Here comes this robot with you on his back and you were still alive somehow." Doc almost couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Is that right… How about the man who killed me? Which way did he go?" I asked pondering of that cold hearted bastard.

Doc replied with quite a story, "That feller and his band of goons went into our saloon and caused quite a ruckus. Thankfully no guns were shot and they headed out to god knows where and good riddance. You'd have better luck asking around town."

After some analysis and medical prognosis, Doc saw I was able-bodied to get out into the world. He walked me to his front door and handed me a duffle bag. I looked inside to find a blue jumpsuit with a yellow 21. Doc said it was one of them Vault jumpsuits that he wore long ago, when he dwelled deep within Vault 21. But why did he give it to me? It took me a while to realize I was only in my undies. So to protect my modesty I wore the jumpsuit. It was so strange how it fit me like a glove. But I'm not one to argue with comfy clothes.

Other things included in the bag were a few stimpacks, my 9mm pistol that was polished up to look brand new, and my collection of books, textbooks, and comics that I kept with me on my travels. I was relieved to see they didn't take any of them. Big Book of Science 4th edition, Programmers Digest, Nikola Tesla and You, Today's Physician, and many issues of ¡La Fantoma! and Grognag The Barbarian I tried to piece together in order. I always looked out for new reading material when I scavenged around my travels and built up this collection proudly.

Doc then handed me a mint-condition Vault 21 canteen so I wouldn't dehydrate out in the desert. Finally Doc unveiled a Pip-Boy 3000. My eyes beamed as I attached this awesome piece of tech onto my wrist. I've read so much into technology but I never thought I'd actually be so lucky to own a Pip-Boy. Just to have a good reading on my location, vitals, and my radiation levels was so convenient. Add to that a radio and a flashlight and I wondered what I'd ever do without it. It's glow upon my wrist felt like heaven. With that, I gave the good doctor my thanks again with the promise I'll try not to get killed again.

"Don't forget to visit Sunny Smiles. She has a real knack at surviving out in the Mojave. She'll be in the saloon with her dog." Doc advised me.

I nodded exited his house to the bright sun beaming into my face. I shielded my eyes from the rays of light to look down upon the quaint little village of Goodsprings. They say before the Great War this town was a nice little mining community. But just like a lot of areas in the United States after the war, it was quickly abandoned. It wasn't forgotten forever though. It was soon resettled due to its nearby water source. People kept busy tending to their crops and going about their day but I could tell that this was the type of place where you could get a friendly conversation. Which is really nice in this day in age.

No sooner than I stepped out of the door I was met with by something I didn't expect this soon. It was the robot that dug me from my grave. It was a fairly large robot with titanium alloy housing so this tough bastard could take its hits. No doubt with its gatling laser and submachine gun, it could turn someone into smoldering pile of swiss cheese. It wheeled up to me with his monitor having a creepily smiling cowboy's face on it.

"Howdy there, pardner!" He said in a southern cowboy sort of way.

I meekly raised my hand and awkwardly said, "Hey there…"

"Might I say you're looking as fit as a fiddle. Hooooooweeeeee! You really know how to take your hits boy." The rolling stereotype exclaimed.

"Ummmm… thanks for helping me out Victor." Kinda felt weird saying thanks to a machine.

"T'weren't nothin' stranger. I'm always fixin' to helpin' folks in need." I figured since this robot contributed to my resurrection I felt like I could trust him. Didn't see why not.

"How did you find me anyways?" I asked curiously.

Then the robot in with its flickering monitor told me, "Well pardner, me bein' the adventurous type I was out for a stroll that night and heard quite a commotion at that ole' bone orchard. I discovered a few bad eggs leavin' the place so I figured I'd go and investigate. That's where I ran into you. Hoo boy they did a number on you but you were still kickin'. So I did what any good cowboy did, I ran you to Doc right quick."

The more I listened to the mechanized buckaroo, the more I thought I had to be the luckiest son of a bitch this side of the Mojave. First I get shot in the head, Victor just happened to find me, and finally Doc managed to patch me up as good as new. This was too good to be a coincidence and I had to find out why I was even killed over a little poker chip. So I said goodbye to my mechanical savior as I headed off to the Prospector's Saloon at the center of town.

"It was certainly a pleasure to make your acquaintance pard. If you ever find my other Securitron brothers out on the road be sure n' say hi to 'em." I just smiled weakly as set off towards the saloon. For some I felt some sort of suspicion towards the robot. I mean it is cool how he saved me like some friendly robot from a sci-fi radio drama but I just felt something wasn't right.

The Saloon simply had a quaintly rustic feel. With its top sign pieced together from other neon letters and its 24 hour service, I'd say it had its charm. An old-timer with a straw hat was perched outside on a rocking chair. He just let me pass by without a single word. I guess they don't call him Easy Pete for nothing. He seemed to take it easy.

It was a nice little establishment with a pool table and a fancy jukebox. Posters of pre-war entertainers were scattered on the wall. As a few patrons drank and ate to their hearts desire at the bar I saw a girl wearing some tough-looking leather armor sharpening her pool skills. Though a little shorter than me she certainly looked like the type to go out and kick a little ass.

I walked up to her to say hi only to hear the growl of her dog. I stopped dead in my tracks. By the looks of the dog, she could send me back to Doc in a matter of minutes. Good thing her owner hushed her before she could even move, "Don't mind Cheyenne. She doesn't attack unless I want her to."

"You must be Sunny Smiles I presume?"

"What gave that away? My attack dog, my rifle, or the fact I don't look like any of the farmers around here?" She sarcastically smiled.

"I was going to say the bright smile you have gave it away but those work too." I joked.

She chuckled a bit at my retort, "And what might your name be stranger?"

I introduced myself to her and told her Doc sent me to her. As soon as I mentioned it we headed out the door to the side of the Saloon. She had set up a crude targeting range with random bottles. Guess she wanted to test my prowess of shooting.

"Here, take this varmint rifle and some ammo. Go ahead and shoot those bottles." She handed me this rifle that has seen some action in its days. It was in poor condition but nothing a little tinkering couldn't fix.

"Just a warning, I'm a little rusty with my shooting." That was a bit of an understatement. I lined my eye up with the scope and I aimed it as best as I could but when I finally fired the bottle didn't move, "Awwww shit!" I was so damn sure it was going to hit.

Sunny tapped my shoulder and said, "I find using a rifle when hunting it's best to slow down your breathing. Loosen up and relax. I imagine the biggest gecko steak I'm gonna get out of my kill."

"Alright then I'll just imagine a giant god-like Nuka-Cola fountain when I try and shoot that bottle then." I said a little bit annoyed at the fact I missed.

Sunny then gave me a friendly nudge to me. She tried to put in the most delicate way she could, "Come on. You wanna die out there in the Mojave… again?" Yes a true caring woman…

She was right though I needed to hone these skills if I ever hope to survive out here. I let out a reluctant sigh,"No…" So I picked my sad ass up and tried again. My breathing slowed as I aimed for my target and I pulled the trigger. I heard the glass shatter and it was music to my earholes. Like a kid who got his first BB gun for Christmas, I was shooting down those bottles left and right.

"Okay Bronco Boy, I think you're ready for some real moving targets. Cheyenne and I are going to teach you Gecko Hunting 101. We're heading to the Water source to flush those little bastards out." She proudly announced. Obviously a real woman dedicated to her job.

"Are we talking about the same geckos that will bite and claw us to death?" I reluctantly asked.

"Yeah time to show those geckos we can kick some ass." She then saw how worried I was, "Listen, don't worry. You're a pretty damn good shot I have to say and even if you miss you got Cheyenne and me to back you up, right girl?" The dog barked happily, sounding excited to go hunting.

The Mojave has chewed me up and spit me back out and if I wasn't careful the damn place could swallow me whole. I wouldn't let that happen without a fight. So I readied my rifle and swallowed my fear, "Sunny, It's gecko hunting season."

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Alright! Jeffrey's gonna kick some ass with Sunny and Cheyenne! I really hoped you enjoyed this chapter and give me a review. I'd love to hear from you. BYE!


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